Jeremy Renner This is All Your Fault
by Hidden Relevance
Summary: Just like the title says. A collection of drabbles from various Renner fandoms. Crossover heavy as well!


_**So, as the title might tell you – this is ALL Jeremy Renner's fault. Like bad. I could have gone all year without falling headlong into another fandom (or several as Jeremy Renner's movies sorta has become one great big fandom all it's own lol). **_

_**But since I managed to re-discover him, I suppose I should share all of my craziness with the rest of you. So yeah, there are probably 4 Renner fandoms here, plus crosses in a couple other of my fave fandoms. They're random – you have been warned.**_

_**And again – anything you recognize is the property of the fandom creators!**_

**Interdepartmental Cooperation – Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol /RED crossover**

Taking in the sight the man in front of him, one who easily had a couple inches on him both in height and in the breadth of the shoulders, Brandt resisted the urge to swallow. He'd heard of Cooper – he was one hell of an agent and not one Brandt ever wanted to be on opposite sides from during a mission.

But this just went to show how rarely Brandt actually got what he wanted.

He smiled, this time letting the nerves show clearly in the tremor in the smile, and tried to look like the mild mannered and slightly socially awkward Chief Analyst he'd forced himself to be not too long ago. With any luck, Cooper would dismiss him as not a threat. That was likely the only chance Brandt would have for holding his own if it came to hand to hand combat getting out of there.

And Brandt _had_ to get out of there – he had the intel he'd been sent to recover from the Back Room, and there wasn't much chance of Hunt or Carter getting in the building in time to help if things went wrong.

Cooper glanced at his ID badge and nodded and waved him away absently, and Brandt let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.

Then Cooper half turned to look at him again, and Brandt could see the sudden tense set to the taller man's shoulders that said the game was up. Brandt sighed again, this time in resignation.

So much for the easy way out.

**The Old "Make Out to Fake Out the Bad Guys" Ploy - Avengers**

Clint's just noticed a group of figures tailing him and Ms. Lewis, and he's busy checking escape routes and figuring out if he needs to call in backup when Darcy suddenly grabs his hand and yanks him down a side alley.

Before he can ask what exactly she's doing, she's stripped off her sweater to reveal a tiny little tank top. He has just enough time to realize her collection of bulky sweaters have been finding a truly criminal set of breasts and then she shoves him back against a wall and proceeds to kiss the shit out of him. There's a brief moment of confusion, but he's a quick study, after all, and he catches up and begins to kiss her back with very little hesitation.

Clint's got his hands on her ass (which is just as impressive as her breasts, by the way), and his mouth latched on to her neck when she suddenly pulls away to peek around the edge of the alley again, leaving him staring after her in shock.

"Hey, I think they bought it," she says, sounding pretty damned proud of herself.

"Huh?" He's blaming the tank top for his lack of brain cells, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"The guys who were chasing us? The reason I pulled you over here?" She huffs and picks her sweater off the box she'd tossed it on, much to Clint's dismay. "Haven't you ever seen a spy movie? The whole 'make out to fake out the bad guys' trick is a classic."

He debates on telling her that he actually doesn't watch much in the way of spy movies, but one, he doubts she'd believe him, and two, it really doesn't matter all that much.

What _does_ matter is that this ploy is a tactic he can totally approve of. He peeks out past her back the way they came, and then reaches out to grab her sweater before she can put it back on.

"They could come back," he says with a smirk and backs her up against the wall.

**Drive Me Mad – SWAT/Fast and the Furious crossover**

Gamble stretched, lining up another shot at the pool table. He laughed to himself, as his crew started twitching, clearly impatient at the delay the driver was causing them. According to his contacts, this Ortiz character was one of the best; Brian didn't mind waiting a while for decent talent.

If a while turned into too fucking long, well then that would be a different story. He'd give Ortiz at least another hour or two. Wasn't like he was bored yet. He sank the cue ball and scowled.

OK, so he might be getting bored now. He sighed and tossed the pool cue onto the table and wandered over the window, still ignoring the mutterings from his crew.

The tale-tell rumble of a car with some serious power under the hood had him straightening to peer further out the window. A sleek machine pulled up to the club he'd taken up residence in for the moment, and he allowed himself to admire it for a moment before turning to head out to the parking lot.

"Let's go, boys. That's our ride." He didn't bother to see if they followed him or not, just strode through the crowd like he owned him. Brian might as well, hell.

He reached the lot and ambled over to the car looking for the man who must be Ortiz. Instead, a little Latina leaned against the hood checking her phone over the top of her sunglasses. He paused and looked her up and down – hot, but surely not who he was hiring.

"Can I help you?" He brought his eyes up from her breasts to her face to see she'd raised an eyebrow at him.

"Looking for Ortiz. Guess I gotta keep looking."

She smirked and slid the glasses off. "You found her. Name's Letty."

He let out a laugh and scratched his head. "Yeah, looking for the _driver_ named Ortiz. You his?"

"I don't belong to anyone." She shrugged all casual, but the clench in her jaw said she wasn't particularly pleased with him. Fuck if he cared. "And I drive. If you've got a job, say so. If not, quit wasting my time."

Brian smirked again and looked from her to the car itself and back again. Then he grinned and nodded over to his own ride angled across two spaces. "How about an audition?"

"How about I leave your ass in the dust?"

He laughed. Whether she was the driver she was rumored to be or not – this was going to be fun.

Never let it be said he'd backed down from a challenge.

**Training Sessions and Placing Your Bets - Avengers**

Clint had known full well that this was going to be a massacre. Hell, he'd said as much to Stark when the fucker mouthed off about taking bets. It seemed watching Natasha kick ass once inside a ring hadn't been quite enough for him to figure out that she was a legitimate badass.

And it wasn't that Clint wasn't a healthy specimen of a badass himself, but hand to hand combat wasn't his specialty. At least not like it was her's.

Still, he could pull off a draw with her occasionally, which was better than half the other head cases on this team. But he knew damned well he couldn't beat her.

Clint stretched carefully and tried not to get distracted by the catcalls when he stripped off his shirt, not wanting even that slight restriction to his movement.

Then he stepped out onto the mat and sighed. This was going to hurt.

Approximately 4 moves later (and it might have been more like 5-6 but he just couldn't be sure with as fast as Natasha moved), he was flat on his back on the mat. He groaned, and thought that at least he'd been right about one thing: it had definitely hurt.

He forced himself to roll over and struggle to his feet. He just had to get up three times, and then he could give up and get the hell out of dodge.

At least, he was pretty sure that was the bet he'd told Darcy to make for him. Fuck if he could be sure of anything after that last blow to the head.

**A Revitalizing Opportunity – Avengers/Resident Evil **

Clint doesn't know why the hell he's been roped into babysitting the new girl, except that apparently she's managed to piss off just about everyone else she's dealt with in the orientation so far up to and including Coulson. Clint already likes her just on principle for that, but that doesn't mean the tour's gonna go well.

Coulson's apparently betting on the whole principle of "former Special Forces folk will get along," but Clint's known too many other spec ops guys and kicked their asses too often to buy it.

Still at first glance, Clint thinks the former Umbrella commando Rain Ocampo is likely to be one hell of an asset to the Avengers Initiative. She's sizing him up from all the way down the hallway and he slows his approach to take a moment to mentally review what he read in her file.

Marksmen like him (and that's probably another thing Coulson was betting on and clearly the man knows snipers even less well than other spec ops), and only survivor of her team in some hush-hush Umbrella fuck up. Clint bets a cool $20 Stark will have hacked the mission file in less than a week out of boredom and to piss her off. Clint hopes he'll get to be there to watch her kick Ironman's ass.

He reaches her and studies her up close, still not quite willing to speak. There's another rumor floating around – that she actually _hadn't _survived the Umbrella debacle. She looks damned good for a dead woman, but hey – this is the Avengers. Clint regularly wanders around with a Norse god, a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist, a not-so-jolly green giant, and America's own personal Special Forces legend who is over 80 years old or some shit. So this Agent Ocampo being dead not too long ago? It isn't impossible. 

Hell, around here it isn't even all that improbable.

She raises her eyebrow at him as if finally impatient with his silent perusal, and he raises one of his own and then held out his hand.

"Agent Clint Barton. Welcome to Avengers." Her grip doesn't have him flinching at the pressure, but it's close. Damned if he doesn't like her more for it.


End file.
